Inseparably Entwined
by Blackbirdox
Summary: One hundred moments shared between Daryl and Andrea. Post 2x07.
1. Beginnings

I've been itching to fill the fanfic100 prompt over on livejournal for awhile now but I've never had a pairing that I was interested in writing 100 prompts for. Now that I've fallen head over heels for Daryl/Andrea, I finally decided it was time to take the plunge. I'm so excited to explore all the potential aspects and sides to their characters and their relationships and I hope you'll stick with me as I go along.

Chapter lengths will mostly likely vary, as I'm not sure if I want to write more drabbles, ficlets, or actual full one-shots. In case you're curious about the prompt listing, you can just google fanfic100 challenge, though I will be going in chronological order rather than prompt order. It's best to start at the beginning, right? (No pun intended)

Enjoy!

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><p>The first time, Andrea isn't drunk, not yet but almost, and Daryl tastes of whiskey.<p>

The first time, Andrea has drying tear tracks on her face and Daryl has dirt under his nails.

The first time happens after Daryl and Rick spend the day digging a grave; the day they laid Sophia to rest.

The first time is about release.

The first time, they end up in his tent, clawing and grappling at each other like drowning men with a life preserver.

The first time is harsh, raw, and primal; all clashing teeth, rough hands, and animal instincts.

The first time is rushed and a bit uncomfortable; the zipper of a sleeping bag pressing into her back, his fingers gripping tight enough to bruise.

The first time, the rest of the world fades away when they come together.

The first time, it's easy to forget the things they've seen and the things they've done; the mistakes that they've made and the opportunities they've missed.

The first time, Andrea cries—for Sophia, for Carol, for Amy, for Carl, for the Greenes, for Otis, for Rick and Lori and for their unborn child, for her parents, for her friends, for herself, for Merle and for Daryl.

The first time, Daryl falls asleep holding her, face pressed into her hair.

The first time, they wake together the next morning with heavy eyes and weary, wary smiles.

The first time could have been the only time—

—it was a fresh start instead.


	2. Outsides

Thank you all for the wonderful reviews so far! You have no idea how much they mean to me. I really, really tried to avoid making this drabble as fluffy as it is but I just couldn't. Daryl's actions are probably so far out of character here but I'd like to think that maybe Andrea can bring out his softer side.

I also totally disregarded her hookup with Shane because as far as I'm concerned, that never happened anyway. ;)

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><p>Andrea has twenty-three freckles.<p>

Twenty-three freckles, seven scars, two mosquito bites, and a faint birth mark on her left thigh.

On her right shoulder, she has a tattoo of a cluster of flowers. Daryl thinks that they might be lilies, but he can't say for sure. On her left shoulder, she has a fading bruise and a healing scratch from when she'd accidently tumbled backwards into a tree two days ago.

She has prominent hipbones, thick eyelashes, tiny feet, and toenails that are painted red.

Her fingers are long and graceful, though her nails are jagged and worn down from constant biting—and he's got several angry red scratches running down the length of his back to prove it.

The very tip of her nose and the apples of her cheeks are sunburned and starting to peel and her bottom lip is chapped. It's also a bit swollen and red, but Daryl can take credit for that.

Her hair is just a little knotted around the ends where it had begun to curl against the back of her neck and his fingers catch in it when Daryl runs them through. He likes her hair like this; natural, messy, and falling across her face. He wishes she'd wear it down more often.

Andrea shifts in her sleep and Daryl then catches sight of a tiny twenty-fourth freckle on her neck, right below where his fingers are nestled into her hair.

He stares at it for a moment before he leans in and presses a kiss to the spot.

Twenty-four freckles, seven scars, two mosquito bites, a birth mark, a tattoo, bruises, scratches, and chipped red toenail polish—these are the little things that make up Andrea, little things that no one else but Daryl has the privilege of knowing.

It gives him a strange sort of sense of fulfillment to finally be able lay with her; to be able to trace her scars with the pads of his fingers and to appreciate and commit to his personal and private memory everything that has made her into the person that she is.

Daryl's lips linger against her skin for the tiniest fraction of a second before he shifts himself around so that he can curl around her, resting his cheek on the top of her head.

The barn, the walkers, Herschel, Sophia, the funeral— everything fades away from his mind when he closes his eyes, and he falls asleep thinking of freckles, feelings, and the gentle, graceful fingers that wind themselves around his own.


	3. Hours

Fifty-two hours after the fact, they finally address what happened between them on the night of Sophia's funeral.

During that time, they'd had sex twice (once in the tent, once pressed up against a tree) and then continued to politely skirt around the issue and each other, always finding something else to do or someone else to talk to when the potential for conversation arose.

On the first day, Daryl was only at the camp for brief periods of time. He'd go off hunting, return with his game and pace around for a half hour or so and then leave again, hands wrapped tightly around his crossbow. He wouldn't allow himself to be swept up in the sadness of the place; couldn't stand hearing Carol cry or seeing the looks of pity and sympathy on everyone's faces.

And he sure as hell couldn't face Andrea.

Andrea, with her pretty red toenails and tattooed back and her knowing eyes that tracked his every movement. Andrea, who he'd— what? Fucked? Made love to? Slept with? Andrea, who made him feel like a six year old boy with his first crush. Andrea, who made him feel hopeful for the first time in a very, very long time. Andrea, who made him feel like he actually had a shot at a real future. Andrea, who he feared had been too drunk to remember anything at all. Andrea, who he feared would want nothing more to do with him.

That was something he wasn't prepared for. That much he was certain of.

But when he'd returned to camp for the third time that day, string of squirrels bearing one new catch, she'd tugged him off into the woods and shoved him up against one of the trees. There, she'd kissed him, touched him, hitched her leg up around his hip, sighed his name, and quite effectively erased any sort of doubt from him mind.

On the second day, it was Andrea who had shied away.

She'd stuck close to Carol; had brought her soup, brought her tea, brought her tissues, brought her a fresh change of clothes. She'd sat beside in her in the comfortable silence of the RV, just thinking. She'd comforted her when she'd cried, giving her small pats on the shoulder and swift kisses to the temple. When dinner rolled around, she'd sandwiched herself in between Dale and Glenn and refused to look across at the opposite side of the fire where Daryl was sitting.

Daryl, with his broad shoulders, warm embrace and razor sharp tongue. Daryl, who she'd made a spectacle of herself running after not once, but twice now. Daryl, whose shoulder she had cried on. Daryl, who made her feel happy for the first time since Amy had been alive. Daryl, who had once asked her if she wanted to live, though he hadn't yet realized that it would be him who gave her a reason to. Daryl, who she feared would want nothing more to do with her.

But when she'd retired early that night, he hadn't been far behind. He'd pressed her down into the blanket that covered the floor of the tent and he'd kissed her, touched her, hitched her leg up around his hip, made her sigh his name, and completely eradicated all doubt from her mind.

They're fifty-two hours into whatever it is that they've gotten themselves into (they suppose they could call it a relationship, though it's functionality remained to be seen) when Andrea turns to him while they're out scouting for a new campsite. "So we're in this then?" she finally asks. "For real? This isn't just some fling?"

"I ain't in the habit of hoppin' into bed with just anyone," he says, sliding a narrow glance in her direction out of the corner of his eye.

"Me either," she says and then for the first time that day, Andrea smiles a genuine smile. "So we're in it."

"Looks like."

"Okay then."

"Your tent or mine?"


	4. Why

A/N: I'm so sorry for taking so long to update! I injured my knee pretty badly and I haven't been in the mood to do anything, let alone write. I'm not even sure this is much of an update, but good or bad, I just wanted to get _something_ up. Hopefully next time this gets updated, I won't be loopy on pain meds and I'll be able to string something coherent and in character together.

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><p>The only thing that Dale can think of to say when Andrea tells him about her and Daryl is, "why?"<p>

_She's like a daughter to me,_ he thinks. She's like a daughter and she's carrying on with Daryl Dixon. Of all people, she had chosen Daryl.

"Why, Andrea?"

"I don't know how to explain it, Dale," Andrea says, absentmindedly picking at a mosquito bite on her elbow. "It surprised me too."

They're sitting side by side atop the RV, acting as lookouts while the rest of their group is scrounging up a few last minute supplies from the abandoned cars on the highway below, and Dale can't help but notice the way Andrea's gaze lingers on Daryl, following his figure as he rummages through the bed of an old Chevy pickup truck.

"But Dixon?"

"He makes me feel like myself again, you know?"

Dale's chair creeks loudly as he leans back into it and for a few minutes, that's the only sound that's made between them. Andrea's staring far off into some place that Dale can't see, looking as calm as he's ever seen her, and all he can feel is a strong and sudden urge to protect her.

"He makes me feel safe," Andrea finally continues, and Dale doesn't miss the sudden flush of color that works its way into her cheeks. "He watches out for me. I think he always has been."

"I've been watching out for you too," Dale reminds her. "You're very much like a daughter to me."

The corner of Andrea's mouth pulls up into a smile as she turns her head to the side to look at him. "I know. And I appreciate that," she says earnestly. "You've been good to me, and you were good to Amy. I haven't forgotten that."

"I care about you a great deal."

"I know that too." Andrea's eyes find their way back to Daryl and the smile on her face grows. "I care about you too."

"I don't want to see you get hurt," Dale tells her, reaching over to place his hand on her shoulder.

Andrea's eyes crinkle at the corners as her face breaks into a full grin. "Okay, _dad_," she teases, reaching up to give his hand a gentle pat. "What I have with Daryl just… works for us. He's not going to hurt me."

"He's probably afraid you'll shoot him again."

Andrea bristles defensively. "I barely grazed him."

Dale chuckles, giving her shoulder a light squeeze. "That temper of his could give yours a run for its money, you know."

"That's the thing," Andrea says, tucking one leg up underneath her. "When we're alone, he's not like that. He's… softer. It's like he's a whole different person."

"And he makes you feel safe."

"Yes. And he makes me feel safe."

Dale just sighs. "My sister always went for the Daryl-type when we were growing up. I never understood it."

"Maybe it's good that you don't," Andrea says with a smile.

"Yeah. Maybe."

"Daryl's a good guy, Dale. Everyone else might not see it, but I do."

"And that's why?"

Andrea's gaze once again falls to Daryl. He's standing alongside Merle's old motorcycle and chewing on his thumbnail, watching Andrea watch him. And as much as Dale's natural protective instinct hates to admit it, there _is_ something different in the way that Daryl looks at her. He wouldn't say that its tender, but it's close. It's reverent somehow; soft and appreciative.

"It's more than that," Andrea says when Daryl finally turns away to kick start the bike. "But yes. That's why."


	5. Lovers

Yes, yes. More fluff from me. I wish I could say I was sorry, but I just needed some. These last few episodes of the season just killed me. I just want to take Daryl and Andrea and stick them in their own little world where nothing can happen to them.

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><p>They're somewhere just outside the border of South Carolina now, camped along the stretch of highway where the RV had finally met its demise.<p>

Andrea has taken to sharing Daryl's tent with him for good—after confiding to Dale about the two of them, Andrea had inadvertently spilled the beans about their relationship to the rest of the group when she'd kissed Daryl full on the mouth when he returned to camp after a hunt. With Maggie's decision to leave her family's farm with Glenn and Lori's crumbling marriage… well, crumbling, no one really paid them much heed. Rick had, warily, offered his congratulations and Glenn had grinned and clapped Daryl on the back but after that, it just wasn't mentioned again.

No one looked twice at either of them when they'd risen in unison and returned to his tent after dinner. If anyone had heard the muffled sounds of their lovemaking later on that night, no one let on or protested or shouted at them to keep it down. And if anyone happened to see them now, lying side by side beneath a blanket with only the tips of their fingers touching, Andrea hopes that no one would ruin the moment.

Daryl's breathing is steady and even beside her and though his eyes are closed, she knows he's not asleep. He's just relaxed—as quiet and calm as she's ever seen him. The sight makes her smile.

She turns onto her side and props herself up onto her elbow, using her right index finger to trace circles along the planes of his chest. She runs over the tattoo above his heart- "for my dad," he'd told her once- and then over the slight dips of his abdominal muscles and then over the trail of wispy dark hair that starts at his bellybutton and runs down to the edge of the blanket spread out across his hips.

"If I were you," he cuts in, voice gruff and thick, "I wouldn't be startin' something if you ain't willin' to finish."

Andrea looks up at him through her eyelashes and smiles cheekily. "Who said anything about not finishing?"

"That yawn you let out a couple of minutes ago seemed pretty convincing."

She relents with a sigh and lies back down beside him, prompting him to shift around so that they're lying face to face. He drapes an arm across her hip, flattening his palm out across her lower back, and she folds her hands up against his chest, resting her forehead against his own.

"Have you ever been in love, Daryl?" she asks, and she feels him tense, the lines of his body pulling taught beside her.

"I don't know," he says. "Why're you asking?"

Andrea hums and closes her eyes, momentarily letting herself get lost in the bit of conversation she'd overheard Glenn and Maggie having that afternoon. "Glenn says he loves her. Maggie."

When Daryl snorts, she frowns. "You don't think it's possible?"

"Never been much for the idea of love at first sight," he answers, though she notices that his grip on her tightens ever so slightly. "He doesn't know her. Not well enough."

Andrea hums again, splaying her fingers out over the spot on his chest where his heart beats. "So that's what in there," she says, tapping her fingers against his skin.

Daryl chuckles into her hair. "Woman, you don't know the half of what's in there."

"I'd like to," she responds. "One day."

He's the one who hums that time, twisting a strand of her hair around his finger. "What about you? You ever been in love?"

Andrea considers it for a moment before she nods. "Yeah, once. A long time ago."

"Is this the part where 'm supposed to get jealous?"

"Shut up," she grumbles, giving him a good natured thump on the chest. "I was so young, and my father hated him. Which is probably why I went after him."

Daryl grunts in response.

"He was the opposite of every other boy I grew up with," she continues, unsure if she's doing this to clear the air with Daryl or just to clear her own mind. "He was dirty and grimy and had this long ratty hair that was probably as long as mine." The corner of her mouth twitches. "He had a motorcycle."

"I'm startin' to sense a pattern here."

"Mm, that's what I was thinking."

Daryl grows quiet for a moment, his fingers stilled along the nape of her neck. "It's a stupid expression," he finally says. "If that's what you're fishin' for, I wouldn't hold my breath." He slides his hand around and gently nudges her chin with his fingers, forcing her to look up at him. "It's… it's not enough. I don't... ah, I ain't never been very good at this."

Andrea smiles softly, pressing her lips to Daryl's to silence his struggle for words. "I wasn't fishing. But thank you."

"Yeah."

They settle into a comfortable silence, listening to the quiet sounds of the group outside of their tent. "No," Andrea says after a little while. "It's not enough."

"Nope," Daryl agrees, staring up at the sky through the mesh of the tent.

"We're damn good lovers, though."

Daryl lets out a low growl. "Woman, what'd I tell you about startin' things you can't finish?"

_No_, Andrea thinks as Daryl rolls over on top of her and kisses her in the way that makes heat rush all the way down to her toes.

Love just isn't enough, not for them and… whatever it is that they have between them. It's enough for people like Glenn and Maggie, people who are comfortable and easily settled. But they're too messy, she and Daryl. Too raw. They don't need labels or silly statements—they just feel, and that's enough.

_Most definitely enough_, Andrea thinks as Daryl runs a calloused hand over the back of her knee and hitches her leg up around his hip.

Most definitely.


End file.
